I just walked away, and grabbed the keys to the Maybach, and drove straight to the divorce lawyer’s office. The receptionist gave me a look that said you again?, but I ignored her and walked in.

Attorney Rosario was sitting behind his polished mahogany desk. His tie was crisp, his smile tight.

“Mrs. Green,” he greeted carefully. “I received your message. But I’m afraid I can’t—”

“Cut the formality,” I said, placing the unsigned divorce documents on the desk. “I want this done. Today.”

He cleared his throat. “Thalia… this isn’t just anyone. We talked about this already. Troy Green’s family—his father owns a third of the east-side properties. His name opens doors. He has connections that could bury me.”

I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “And I’ve lived two years of silence. Two years of cold rejection. Two years of pretending my marriage wasn’t a farce. There’s no love here. There never was. Just a man obsessed with someone who isn’t me.”

He shifted, uncomfortable. “Still—”

“I’m not asking for your sympathy. I’m begging you to do your job. Get me out of this cage.”

He stared at me, then finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll file it. It’ll take a few days. But once it’s in, it’s done… and if he says no, I don’t have any say on it.”

My throat tightened. I nodded. “Thank you.”

I walked out with a weight off my shoulders and a new one building in my chest.

Next, I headed to the embassy. Filled out the necessary forms. Submitted the paperwork. I was done being a citizen of Troy’s world. Soon, I’d be gone. And this nightmare would be nothing but a memory I wouldn’t visit again.

By the time I stepped back outside, the sun was warm on my face. My chest still hurt—but for the first time, the pain wasn’t sharp. Just dull… survivable.

That’s when I remembered Troy’s credit card. I never used it—not once. Never asked for gifts, jewelry, nothing. I’d been the perfect wife on paper and an invisible one in practice.

So I opened my phone and started swiping.

Designer coats. Cashmere dresses. Heels so tall they looked like weapons. A sapphire clutch I didn’t need. Everything I saw—I bought.

Screw it.

I deserved this.

For every night I sat alone in that freezing marital bed. For every time I cooked him dinner and watched him throw it away untouched. For every rejection, every bruise my heart collected in silence—I deserved this.

And of course, Troy noticed.

Halfway through the fifth store, my phone buzzed.

TROY: “What’s going on with the card?”

I smirked and texted back without skipping a beat:

ME: “You said do something that makes me happy. This is it. Are you going to stop me now?”

A moment later, his reply came. Just one word.

TROY: “Fine.”

I laughed softly. Victory had never tasted so sweet. I stepped into another boutique, arms already full of bags. The cashier stared at me like I was royalty.

And that’s when she walked in.

Bianca. Hazel eyes. Brown hair. A beauty mark under her left eye.

She stopped mid-step when she saw me—and all the shopping bags surrounding me.

“What the hell is this?” she hissed. “You gold-digging bitch—are you trying to make my brother go broke?!”

I didn’t even flinch. “I’m not a gold-digger. I’m his wife. So I deserve this.”

“Deserve?” she scoffed. “No, you don’t. You’ll never deserve anything from him. You stole this life. That bag,” she pointed, “that dress. I want it. It’s mine!”

I rolled my eyes. “You want the dress? Buy your own.”

She stormed over, grabbing the same cream Dior gown I had in my hand. “Let go!”

“No.”

We yanked at the fabric, both of us tugging until it tore straight down the middle with a loud rip.

Silence fell.

Bianca’s face twisted. “You bitch,” she spat. “You’re the reason Troy doesn’t talk to me anymore. Ever since he married you, he never visited me again, never looked at me the same way. You ruined our relationship! I should have said this before but I was thinking of my brother but I really hate you!”

I blinked. “So what? That’s not my fault he married me. You are just his stepsister.”

“It is your fault! You took him away from me!”

And before I could react, she yanked a stiletto off one of the display mannequins and swung.

The heel struck the side of my head. I stumbled, stunned. Warmth bloomed down my temple. I reached up—and my fingers came away red.

“Die!” she screamed as she hit me again and again. “Die! Die! Die!”

When I opened my eyes, everything hurt.

The ceiling above me was too white. The fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, pulsing against the pounding in my skull. I tried to move, but even turning my head sent a sharp wave of pain slicing through my scalp.

“Easy there,” a voice said.

A nurse hovered beside me, her voice gentle but concerned. “You were brought in by a good Samaritan. Passed out in a pool of blood at a boutique. Head trauma. You lost a lot of blood—got hundreds of stitches.”

My hand instinctively moved to my head. It was bandaged. Aching. Throbbing.

I blinked slowly. “Who brought me here?”

“We’re not sure. They didn’t leave a name. Just dropped you off and disappeared.”

“So… no family?”

The nurse hesitated.

“We called your emergency contact. Your husband, Troy Green. Also listed your in-laws. But…” she gave me an awkward smile, “no one’s come. You’ve been here for nearly twelve hours.”

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

Nothing.

“Twelve hours?” My voice cracked.

She nodded and handed me my things. “Phone’s in there. Maybe try calling him?”

I clutched the phone with trembling hands. My screen lit up—no missed calls. No messages.

I dialed Troy’s number. Straight to voicemail.

Again. And again.

The fourth time, I stopped.

Instead, I opened Instagram.

The moment the app launched, a notification popped up.

BiancaGreen_ went LIVE.

I tapped it.

My breath stopped.

Troy was right there. In the video. They were in Milan. He held shopping bags in both hands, trailing behind Bianca while she giggled at the camera.

“My brother’s been spoiling me rotten,” she said to her viewers, blowing a kiss toward the screen. “Best brother in the world.”

I watched as he handed her a drink, then smiled faintly when she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

I couldn’t breathe. I was bleeding out in a hospital room, alone.

And they were shopping.

Together. A scream clawed its way up my throat before I could stop it. I hurled the phone across the room. It bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a crack.

The nurse rushed in. “Miss Thalia, are you alright?”

I wasn’t.

But I’d never been.

“I want to report an assault,” I told her. “Now. Call the police.”

A few minutes later, a young officer walked in, clipboard in hand. He looked bored.

“Miss Thalia Green?”

“Yes.”

“You’re reporting an assault by… Miss Bianca Green?”

“Yes.”

He looked at me. Something in his eyes shifted.

Then he sighed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve been instructed not to move forward with any charges filed by you against Miss Bianca Green.”

“What?” I stared at him. “She attacked me. I have stitches. Hospital records. Witnesses!”

He didn’t flinch. “We were told you may be suffering from mental instability. That you have a history of emotional outbursts and exaggerated claims. It was recommended we advise you to speak directly with your husband.”

The air left my lungs.

Troy.

Of course. He owned this city. The police. The hospitals. The narrative.

I had no one. No voice. No power. I was drowning in a sea Troy controlled with a flick of his finger.

I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling. Hours passed. The day blurred into night.

And then I heard the door click open.

He didn’t knock. He just walked in, still in that same custom-tailored suit, hair perfectly styled, face unreadable.

I sat up.

“Troy—”

“Apologize to Bianca.”

No hello. No concern.

My jaw clenched. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I stared at him. “I was in the hospital. I had stitches. She attacked me.”

“You tried to file an assault case against her,” he snapped. “Do you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“She hit me with a shoe! She split my head open over a dress and called me a gold digger!”

“She’s my sister,” he said coldly. “She was just trying to protect me. You went on a shopping spree like you were emptying my account. What did you expect?”

“That was the first time I used your card. Ever. I’m your wife.”

“She is my stepsister.”

I blinked. “What?”

I felt something inside me crack.

“You’re choosing her over me,” I said. “Your wife.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes.”

The word dropped like a blade.

I sucked in a sharp breath, but it felt like my lungs refused to expand.

“That’s unfair! I almost died!”

“Yet, you didn’t. You know her. It’s just her temper, okay? And she didn’t mean it. I grounded her for a day, and took her card. That’s done.”

“No, that’s not done—”

He shook his head like I was the one being unreasonable.

“I’m not having this conversation again. You’re going to apologize to her. End of story.”

He turned to leave.

“Take a rest,” he added without looking back. “I still need to take care of my sister. She was traumatized seeing you like that, you were covered in blood.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

I sat there in silence. Blood still crusted around my scalp. A dull ache bloomed in my skull.

And the only person who should’ve held me… left me again.

For his stepsister.

The hospital walls were quiet. And for the next three days, I didn’t hear a single word from my husband.

Not a call. Not a text. Not even a cold glance through the door.

Instead, he sent nurses. Round-the-clock professionals, paid to check on me like I was a client on a bill. They never used his name, never said where he was. But I already knew.

Because I saw it all on social media.

They were in Sweden.

Troy and Bianca. One post showed Bianca posing on a glass-bottom bridge over a glacier. Another had her pouting beside a fireplace, Troy’s coat draped around her shoulders.

One video caught them sharing fondue.

Bianca giggled at the camera, feeding him a piece of strawberry dipped in chocolate.

“My brother spoils me sooo much,” she said sweetly. “Best vacation ever. Recharging with my favorite person.”

I closed the app and stared at the ceiling.

I remembered how, when we first got married, Troy kept his distance from her. Barely spoke a word. I thought maybe they weren’t close. Maybe she just annoyed him. It didn’t matter.

But now… I knew better.

He wasn’t ignoring her.

He was avoiding temptation.

And now, he wasn’t bothering to hide it at all. They were together. Not just as siblings. No one looked at their sister the way he looked at her in that video.

And she? She looked like she’d already won.

I pressed my palm against my chest and exhaled. Just a few more days. Just a few more hours.

I had already filed for the divorce. My visa would arrive soon. I’d already made quiet arrangements with the embassy. My ticket out was coming.

All I had to do was survive until then.

On the fifth day, I was finally cleared for discharge. I changed out of the hospital gown, packed my things, and signed the paperwork. The nurse wheeled me to the lobby.

That’s when I saw them.

Troy.

And Bianca.

Sitting side by side.

Bianca had shopping bags in her hands—designer names in bold gold fonts, as if she was here for a runway rather than an apology.

“Thalia,” she called sweetly. “You’re looking better!”

I didn’t answer. She walked over, holding out the bags like a peace offering.

“I got you something,” she said, smile sugary. “Consider it a gift. I didn’t mean for things to get so… crazy. But everything’s fine now, right? We’re okay. Especially since my brother and I made up. That little incident actually helped us reconnect.”

I blinked.

Then I scoffed. “You mean the part where you split my skull open? That little incident?”

Bianca flinched—then immediately ducked behind Troy.

“Wait… is she going to hurt me again?” she whimpered. “Brother, I’m scared.”

Troy stood between us.

“No,” he said calmly. “She’s not.”

Then he turned to me, jaw clenched. “Apologize to her. Now.”

My chest constricted.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “We already talked about this. You’re going to apologize. She’s shaken. She’s still scared. It’s the least you can do.”

I stared at him, blinking through the haze of disbelief.

“You want me to apologize,” I said slowly, “to the woman who assaulted me?”

“She’s my stepsister,” he said.

“I don’t care if she’s the queen of England.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a misunderstanding. You provoked her by maxing out my card… and by not giving that dress when you can just let her have it.”

“Once,” I snapped. “One time. In two years of marriage. I never asked for anything. I never touched your money. But the moment I do, I’m a gold digger? And dress? She didn’t want it. She wanted it because it was mine just like she wanted you because you’re mine!”

“She was just trying to protect me,” he repeated. “She thought you were taking advantage of me…and no! I’m not yours!”

“Ah, right. You’re not mine, but you get to call me yours? That’s unfair, then.”

He didn’t answer.

Bianca peeked out from behind him with wide, innocent eyes, but her smirk was already forming underneath.

That was it. I stepped back, breathing hard.

“Let’s make it fair then because I’m done,” I said. “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m not apologizing. I want a divorce, Troy Green.”